Drink Me
by lily22
Summary: Sam Vimes Jr. complains about Vetinari.


**Title:** Drink Me  
**Characters:** The Vimes family; Vetinari  
**Warnings:** None. Well, mention of alcohol and mild sadism. It's generally fluffy.

* * *

Sam Vimes Jr. returned to the house with his arm in a sling and his face covered with bandages. "That… that _madman_," he declared, waving his good arm around, "is trying to kill me!"

"Of course not, dear," said Sybil absently.

Then she looked up.

"Oh," she said. "What happened?"

"What happened? _Vetinari_ happened," Sam raved. "He… he made me drink an entire _crate_ of Bearhugger's finest! He _forced _me to! Pushed the bottle to my lips and everything! And then? And then he decided that we would go on our run as usual!"

Ever since Sam had started walking, Vetinari had been taking him on "runs", about once a month. This usually involved scaling up and down walls like a lizard, prancing about the rooftops like a cat, and avoiding detection like the boy who's broken his mother's prized vase and knows he's in major trouble, a most elusive species.

Sybil thought it was an excellent idea.

"Did he take it easy on you, then?" Sybil asked, a bit puzzled by the mention of alcohol.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" said Sam bitterly. "Well, I fell off the first two times I tried to climb the wall. The third time, I finally made it up. I took two steps—and I fell off the other side."

"And he caught you?" suggested Sybil.

Sam scoffed. "Yeah right! He just stood up there and watched me vomit my guts up. He _watched_, Mum. He was probably laughing too, I just couldn't hear because I was too busy being sick. I couldn't even move my head I was in so much pain, and then when he finally graces me with his presence… Guess what he says then, Mum, guess."

"Um. 'There there'?" suggested Sybil.

"No! He says, 'Would you like another one?' And he gives me another bottle! He's a lunatic! Mum, don't make me go with him again next month! Please!"

"That does sound unlike Havelock," Sybil commented.

"_Unlike_ him?" screeched Sam. "This is _exactly_ like him! He hates me! He lives to torment me!"

"But Sam." Sybil fixed her son with her best All-Seeing Mother's Eye. "Why do you think he'd do something like that to you?"

"Uh?" Sam gulped. But, not to be derailed, he continued, "Didn't I already tell you? Because he likes seeing me in pain!"

"_Really_," said Sybil. The one word said, "Pull the other one, it's got bells on it," "I grew up with Havelock and I refuse to believe he would hurt you just for the fun of it," and "I am your mother and you can't hide anything from me." It had a lot to say for itself, for just one word.

Sam blushed and began practicing for the Floor Inspection Marathon.

"Sam?" Sybil asked, warning in her voice.

"Well, it was my birthday this month," mumbled Sam. "So the guys and I went out to celebrate, right? And I sort of… got drunk."

"Did you," said Sybil carefully. Sam knew from experience that it was only the calm before the storm.

"Yeah. That's why I had to stay over. I couldn't exactly come home with a hangover, Dad would've killed me…"

"And I suppose Havelock wanted to teach you a lesson about drinking, did he?"

"It's none of his business! Besides, he couldn't have known!"

"Havelock knows quite a lot," Sybil remarked. "Isn't that right, Sam?" Now she was talking right over Sam's head. He turned.

His father, Sam Vimes Sr., was standing in the doorway. He had apparently decided to register for the Floor Inspecting Marathon as well, because he too was doing quite a lot of practice. At this rate the two of them would win first and second, no contest.

"Can't imagine what you mean, dear," he mumbled.

"Anyway, Sam, do you think you'll ever get drunk again?"

"Never," Sam said, shuddering.

"Then I think Havelock's done a good thing. I wonder what you two will do next month?"

"Mum," Sam wailed. "You can't be serious!"

"Maybe I should tell him about that time you pushed over the charcoal bin…"

"I was only three years old! Honestly, he's like the bogeyman or something."

"Even worse," muttered Sam Vimes Sr., beating a hasty retreat. "He's your godfather."

**End.**


End file.
